Strangers came into the apartment
walked right to the bookshelf
to spill beer on your book.
Your book on a hook dangling off the roof
attracted a white horse to the door.
Your book emitted physical waves
into the air, drying my hair.
You climbed a tree to write
your book where you wouldn't be seen.
There was no tree there
until you made it.
The shimmering leaves seemed to be powered by light.
The tree shuffled this light onto strings.
The strings hung from the air.
The printers sewed your book together with them.
Amazing Story poem, brilliantly told about the making of a BOOK! 5 Stars fullest and......you are chosen by Poem Hunter and Editors as The Poet Of Today Congratulations, dear poet!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You climbed a tree to write your book where you wouldn't be seen. There was no tree there until you made it.---An awesome poem--The undying spirit of a writer to write his book---He makes a tree where there is no tree